


The Boy Who Couldn't Be Saved

by TheCrazyFanGirl23



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Dark, Depressing, Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hurt Draco, Hurt Draco Malfoy, Hurt No Comfort, No Fluff, Sad Draco Malfoy, Tragedy, draco - Freeform, sad draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrazyFanGirl23/pseuds/TheCrazyFanGirl23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every day was torturous for Draco Malfoy. An endless cycle of pain, abuse, and unbelievable expectation, but one night Draco takes a stand and puts an end to it all, and finally his blood would stand for something far darker than "purity."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy Who Couldn't Be Saved

Draco awoke with a gasp and a pounding heart, remnants of his dream still fresh in his mind. No, they weren't nightmares, just dreams. _Malfoys don't have nightmares._ He sucked in air desperately between his lips, sounding like a fish out of water, like he had just run a marathon. _How indigenous._

He stared up at the emerald green satin sheets above and waited until his breathing slowed down before willing himself up to place his bare feet upon the freezing floors of the dungeon. He felt sick, and lightheaded, seeming to sway on his feet before steadying himself by grabbing hold of the banister attached to his bed. _You worthless, pitiful, sad excuse of a boy!_ He felt his grip slipping, his palm squeaking against the dark polished wood, and he couldn't help but try to remember when the last time he ate was. _Take what He has given you and carry it!_

Draco felt himself lose his grip and in an instant he came crashing down to the floor, the fall knocking his already ragged breath out of him more. _How dare you make a fool of me! Get up! Get up!_ His arms shook as he tried to push himself up and he noticed that the room began to spin. The muscles in his stomach tightened, attempting to expel the contents of it but there was nothing in his stomach to throw up. He felt his eyes start to close as an enormous sense of fatigue washed over him and suddenly he couldn't do it anymore. His arms went still by his sides and now his body only shook from the cold. At least that would help to numb the pain of this fall. _You disgusting, incompetent, brat! I said get up! Do you not hear me!? Get up! Draco, I said get u-_

"Draco!"

He felt himself being roughly shaken by a pair of large hands and out of instinct his hands reached up to block his face.

"Draco, are you alright? Draco!"

He relaxed when he recognized the voice. It was only Goyle, the large bumbling fool of Hogwarts. He was harmless to him, but why was he here in his room? Oh, now he remembered, they were housemates, he forgot. _He will be of use to you, Draco, just as how his father is of use to me._ He wasn't home at the manor… yet. Tomorrow the students of Hogwarts went home for the holidays. Suddenly he felt sick again and he ran to the closest boy's lavatory, pushing in the stall door and collapsing down to his knees in front of the porcelain throne to dry heave into it for the next twenty minutes. He still felt a little dizzy, but at least the room wasn't spinning anymore. _Pitiful!_

The day seemed to drag on long, like usual, except this one was more intolerable. Everyone kept insistently chatting about the holiday break bringing poor Draco back to the inevitable. He was going home tomorrow. He felt sick again.

"I want the assignment as soon as you step foot through those doors Monday following break. No excuses. Class dismissed."

Snape's drowning, monotonous voice did not help to ease the exhaustion Draco's body was feeling, nor did the huge research assignment help to ease his jumbling nerves. How could he possibly complete it when he was going home to-… father would make him-…

"Are you alright, Mr. Malfoy?"

A few students stopped and looked back to see what the commotion was about, one of those being the infamous Harry Potter, of course; the nosy prick. Why did he always have to play hero? Never once did he leave his role, always managing to successfully live up to the impossible expectations set before him. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Suddenly the world came back to Draco and he didn't feel as if his head were swimming with thoughts. He noticed that Professor Snape was still staring at him, including a few other students, and he forced the nausea he felt down in order to speak out, "I'm fine professor."

Before Snape had a chance to even respond Draco was out the door, resisting the urge to give Harry a good shove as he went past. He couldn't stand the idiotic expression on his face. Who was he to pretend that he cared about his personal well-being? Draco offered his friendship to him back in their first year and he had denied it, like he was above him in some way, like he was better, and Draco did not understand what he had done wrong. He said and did everything his father would have done in that situation and all he got for it was rejection, disapproval, and dislike. It wasn't fair. He didn't understand. He felt sick.

"Draco!"

A hand grabbed his arm and he was met with the concerned eyes of Pansy Parkinson and he knew instantly that he was not going to be able to get away anytime soon. She always worried about him and there was once a time when he appreciated her concerns, until he realized that it did nothing for him; her worry changed nothing. It was simply wasted effort.

"Come eat something with me, Draco."

He honestly didn't know if his stomach would even allow him to eat, yet he also found that he did not have the energy in him to argue, because no one argued with Pansy Parkinson and won. He knew he didn't have a choice so he nodded and headed in the direction of the Great Hall.

"Eat something Draco! You're so thin…"

A few heads in Slytherin turned to look at him and he mentally cursed the girl for being so loud. She was always loud.

"Draco…"

Angrily he piled some food onto his plate just to make her shut up. She really needed to mind her own business.

He pushed some peas into his mashed potatoes with his spoon and mixed them in until they were completely engrossed within the buttered mush. His stomach growled with anger to be fed but he couldn't bring himself to do so when he knew that he would just throw it all back up anyways. He was a Malfoy, after all, and was very conscious of his appearance. What would the other students think if they were to see him vomit all over himself? More importantly, what would his father think? _Appearance is everything, Draco._

Suddenly he didn't have the energy anymore to even pretend that he was interested in the food before him so he set his utensil down and pushed the plate away in defeat. He couldn't stand smelling the meal his body so desperately wanted yet wouldn't allow him to eat. It wasn't worth the torture.

"Draco…"

"Leave it be Pansy..!"

A few more heads turned to look and this time Draco mentally cursed himself. _You have no one to blame but yourself._ He felt sick again, and also a little dizzy, and he tried to find a place to look where pairs of eyes weren't reciprocated back at him. The room was getting extremely hot and the cheerful chatter seemed to increase in volume ten folds. He felt himself start to shake and he closed his eyes in an attempt to calm his uneasy nerves. He counted to ten, slowly, and soothed himself with thoughts of the remaining hours he still had left at Hogwarts. For fifteen hours he was still safe.

When he opened his eyes he was met with a pair of puzzled green ones. They were filled with concern, and that damned pity, and it did not fail to instantly ignite the fire of rage within. He wanted to scream, punch him, and pull out his wand and hex the bastard for not minding his own business, and it took every ounce of will power Draco had in order to stand and just simply walk out of that room, ignoring Pansy's pleas and leaving the smells of freshly cooked foods, and the sounds of cheerful banter all the while behind.

Draco didn't necessarily have a destination set in mind; he just sort of let his feet take him to wherever they wanted to go. He remembered years ago when everything seemed so simple and he wished that he could go back to that innocent time in his life. He certainly wouldn't have been leaving the Great Hall early to go roam the halls of Hogwarts, that's for sure. He would still be sitting there, his two croons on his left, Crabbe and Goyle, and the love sick Pansy on his right, a grin surely reserved for the Malfoys alone plastered onto his pointed face. There would be talk of the holidays and what was to be expected upon arrival home. Talk of family, presents, and more frequently now, the Dark Lord. They were all becoming of age soon. There was something, however, that has not changed since that time. Draco Malfoy never wanted to go home.

He looked up when a gust of wind with temperatures surely below the freezing point blew harshly against his face, chilling him down to the bone, and he noticed that he had entered the Astronomy tower. He stared at the spiraling stone staircase ahead and debated on whether he could make it up all of the steps or not. After a few moments of internal battling within himself he decided to take the long, energy-consuming journey up. What's the worst that could happen? He faints and cracks his head open against the stone? He could take that risk.

Every step he took created a hallowed echo and he placed his hand upon the railing when his head started to feel dizzy again. The spiraled layout of the staircase did not help to ease this predicament either and he wondered vaguely who the idiot was who created this place. It probably had a lot to do with Dumbledore, the old fool. Draco almost hated that man the most.

He was getting very tired and each step became more and more of a struggle and by that time all he wanted to do in that moment was to see if it was snowing. Draco loved the snow. He remembered the times as a child he would go outside the manor and get lost in the heavy flakes, get lost in the nothing. Draco could stay out there for hours before someone would finally notice his absence and by then his skin would always be blue with frostbite. Afterwards he would sit by the fire with his mother and she would speak softly to him the dangers of the cold and how he must never stay out for that long.

"If your father saw, Draco… Not even gloves?"

Wind blew harshly against his face, bringing him back to reality and it surprised him to notice that he had reached the top. When he saw all of the snow, all of the beautiful snowflakes, he couldn't stop his eyes from welling up with tears. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to stop, to not shed a single tear, but his eyes kept watering none the less. _Crying is a sign of weakness._ Tear after tear slid down cold, translucence cheeks and a blue tinted hand reached forward into the white abyss. There had to be something out there. There couldn't be just nothing. And then he was lost within the white.

Thick, heavy snowflakes hit roughly against his face, stinging his already frozen skin, stinging his eyes, and engrossing him completely. The wind whistled and moaned and gave him quite a difficult time with walking. Due to not being able to eat properly for months, and recently not being able to eat at all, Draco had been reduced down to nothing. His weight dramatically decreased and this was clearly visible to any bystander. His clothes now hung loosely from his body and his skin was stretched tight over nothing but bones. For Merlin's sake he barely had enough energy to get up from his bed in the mornings anymore. He was just so tired. So, so tired.

He looked down when he felt something hard press into his abdomen and he realized it was the gate that blocked off the drop below the tower. He reached out and grabbed the bar with both hands and was taken aback by how frozen the metal was. It was so cold that it stung his already numbed hands. Mother was right, Draco thought.

It took all of the remaining energy Draco had, and the effort caused his arms to shake immensely, but he managed to pull himself over and stand on the other side of the gate. The wind gave no sympathy as it blew roughly against him, taunting him, daring him to take the plunge down, and he felt like letting go right then and there. There couldn't be just nothing.

"Malfoy!"

Draco turned in the direction of the voice and he felt anger boil within when he recognized those infamous emerald green eyes, and that curly mop of a hair even through all of this snow. Oh no, Draco thought, not again Potter. He leaned forward and felt the wind once again taunt his demise, and for once Draco was glad that Harry was here. He wanted to watch him fail.

"You can't save everyone, Potter."

And then he let go, and he felt gravity's effect take instantly, bringing him down closer and closer into the white, and in his last moments he thought of his mother and how she would take to the news of his death, he thought of his father and how angry he would be, how humiliated, and he thought of the students of Hogwarts and their reactions, it would surely be the latest gossip, and he thought of Pansy, he felt bad for her, but most of all he thought of Harry and how finally that bastard didn't get something he wanted. He couldn't play hero this time.

If it weren't for all of the blood, or the fact that Harry had witnessed Draco hurl himself off the astronomy tower, nobody would have found the boy, at least not until spring time. The snowfall was heavy that night and it covered his body almost as instantly as it came crashing down into a pile of broken bones below. Blood spattered in all directions upon impact and forever stained the white and a small smile still graced the blue lips of his frozen body. He looked content, "the most peaceful he has ever been" according to Pansy.

A lot of rumors were made about what had happened on that December night atop of the astronomy tower. Harry's favorite had to be the one about him shoving Draco in some fit of old rivalry rage and according to a majority accidentally, but to some others, purposefully, murdering the boy. Harry had to admit that he had never had a distinct liking for Draco, but he had also never hated him either, and his suicide disturbed him to unimaginable lengths. Out of everyone he knew he would have never expected Draco to be the one to take that long and cold plunge downwards past the point of possible repair and he tried to comprehend his reasoning's behind this action, but the only thing he could manage to wrap his brain around easily was the fact that the snobby, stuck-up, wealthy Draco everyone thought they knew wasn't really the person that he was, and it wasn't until years later after Voldemort had been killed, the wizarding war had ended, and Harry had just started having a family of his own with Ginny Weasley, when Narcissa Malfoy came to his front steps, looking disheveled and oh so very fragile, and placed extracted memories from her own mind into Harry's hand and left without so much of a word, is when Harry finally grasped an understanding of Draco's inerasable demise.

Harry watched Draco, at various different ages; be beaten to a bloody pulp, always over such trivial things. No matter how hard he tried he could never do anything right in the eyes of his father. His bone-breaking posture wasn't straight enough, his legs not long enough, his sneer not menacing enough, his A+s not high enough, his spells not strong enough, his friends not plentiful enough, his hair not fixed enough, he not perfect enough.

Harry watched Lucius perform all different forms of immoral acts upon his son that explained down to a T why Draco acted the way that he did. Belts were used, and so were whips, and it was a mystery as to why that infamous snake-handled cane was not permanently stained red. Harry even watched Voldemort use him for his own sick pleasures, Lucius grinning mercilessly in the background. That was his present for turning sixteen.

When it was all over Harry barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting up all of the lunch he had previously had before Narcissa's arrival. Images of Draco bleeding, screaming, and crying in all sorts of vile situations kept popping into his head, and he felt himself get sick again. This continued for a few days. Images of Draco's torture would unstoppably make itself present within Harry's mind, terrifying him more so than parts of the war ever could, and each time he would get sick. He couldn't eat for days. He couldn't talk for days. Ginny wanted him to go see a doctor, Ron was concerned, and Hermione was attempting to figure out the reasoning behind his abnormal actions, but all Harry could think about during that time was Draco's lithe, pale, bleeding body, his tortured mind, his painful life, and how he had managed to wait seventeen years before finally choosing to end it. Draco Malfoy, by far, had the hardest life of them all. He was the boy who couldn’t be saved.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Draco Malfoy or any of the characters in Harry Potter obviously J. K. Rowling does :b Ok so this is just my take on Draco life I guess. I wrote this a couple years ago. Oh and the words that are in italics are voices inside his head. Just some clarification there if there was any confusion.


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